crowd something sparkled brightly, and Meersh, magpie-like, was drawn to it. He cozened his way through the crowd. He misdirected some, and wheedled others, slipping through the gaps that appeared as people turned, until finally he could see it.
There in the center hung the robe of the sun god. It so dazzled Meersh’s eyes that they teared immediately. Penis complained, “That’s so bright it could blind a one-eyed mouse!”
Others beside him shielded their faces from its glare. Thus he understood why almost everyone had turned their backs to the center. Far easier to look upon was the robe of the moon, hanging like an afterimage beside it. Meersh saw those robes and knew he had to wear one of them.
Behind him, the Stone Man followed without a word. For his imposing figure the crowd parted immediately. He stood behind Meersh and with his pebble eyes looked upon the robe as if it gave off no light at all. Penis was laughing gleefully at the prospect of becoming a godhead, until the Stone Man’s pebble eyes fixed upon him, and then, unnerved, Penis shrank away.
The governor of Valdemir entered with a small retinue. He surveyed the crowd carefully as he strode before them to a marble rostrum. The chatter grew as he stepped up, and he waved his arms, calling out, “Friends. Neighbors. Please!” The conversations quieted. “I’m glad you have all come.” He glanced at an adviser, who nodded solemnly. “It’s as Edgeworld predicted—so large a body, a group, and somewhere in the midst of you our sun god. It comes to me now—”
Before he could finish, the Stone Man had stepped forward and said, “I would like to nominate my good friend, Meersh, who is certainly worthy of the title.” His voice, raised to a bellow, rumbled about the room. “He is widely traveled across these many spirals. He is widely known.”
“That’s a true statement,” someone interjected. “Widely known, and as widely sought!”
The crowd roared. Penis scolded Meersh, “You should have let me write this.”
Unfazed, the Stone Man continued, “Of all those here, he has seen the sun from more places, more mornings of the world.”
“And more often hanging from a windowsill!” called another member of the crowd. The laughter that followed drowned out everything the Stone Man tried to say. He was treated to slaps on the back, and even the governor and his staff joined in the merriment. Meersh clucked his tongue at outraged Penis. He had anticipated it all. In fact it was as he’d intended.
With the Stone Man drawing all attention, Meersh walked straight to the sun god’s robe. No one could look at it and none paid him the least mind as he shamelessly snatched the robe and placed it upon his shoulders. He strutted about, enjoying the sense of self-importance it conveyed. Let them laugh, he didn’t care. He was going to be divine.
Nobody realized what he had done immediately . . . until he burst into flames. “Aah!” he shouted, and ran in a circle. The nearest of the crowd lurched back from him. “Aah!” he shrieked, and then charged straight at the balcony. “Aah!” he screamed as he flung off the robe and leapt over the railing. “Aahhhhh!” The cry descended through octaves as he plunged from sight and into the sea.
Here Leodora turned the lamp from bright day to cool blue evening and eased the glittering glass-encrusted robe from the screen. She rested while the audience laughed and shouted and applauded. For many it was the first interlude they’d ever seen and they fell silent at the blue glow, where an experienced audience would have known to stretch their legs, to stroll about. The silence told her that they expected her to continue.
She worked quickly to make the changes in the puppet of Meersh, prepared her new props, then craned her neck and gave Diverus a nod.
A note of music took to the air behind her. She lifted Meersh to the bottom of the screen and let him show up just slightly, had him rise and fall, rise and fall, as if floating upon waves. Watching the screen from outside, Soter cleared his throat and continued the tale.
Many hours later, Meersh drew himself out of the ocean. His body was blackly charred; his hair stuck out like burned twigs. Most of his clothing had disintegrated. He had little hope of recouping his loss and would have been better served by slinking away, but Meersh never chose what would best serve